The breaking point
954 Words
I stumbled toward the dark hallway, my head spinning with a mix of cheap vodka and pure, unadulterated fury. How dare he? How dare Jason Milburn walk into my best friend’s house and mark his territory as if he hadn’t spent the last forty eight hours trying to tear my mother’s life apart?
I needed a drink. Or I needed to scream.
Twenty minutes later, I wasn't screaming. I was dragging a massive,shadow figure into Tanya’s guest bedroom. I kicked the door shut, the click of the lock echoing in the small space. I didn't wait. I reached for him, kissing him with a desperation that tasted like iron and rebellion.
The taste of watermelon bubblegum flooded my senses, clashing with the burn of alcohol.
"Why?" I whispered against his lips, my hands trembling as they gripped his leather jacket. "Why can’t you just let me have one night?"
"Gideon isn't worth it, Eliza," Jason rasped, his voice a low vibration that traveled straight to my core. "I thought you had impeccable taste. Not the bottom of the food chain."
My hands found the buttons of his shirt, fumbling, needing to feel the heat of his skin. "Why can’t you just leave me alone, Jason?"
"Because I own you, Eliza." He backed me against the door, his hands tracing the line of my collarbones with a terrifying possessiveness. "Every inch." He leaned down, his lips ghosting over mine. "I own these lips." He moved to my pulse point. "I own this."
He dropped to his knees, his hands sliding down my hips. When he moved his mouth between my legs, a jagged, silent moan escaped me. "Jason..please."
"I own everything about you, Eliza. The sooner you understand that, the better for both of us."
He didn't stop. He used his tongue with a cruel, deliberate slowness, twirling it against my skin before increasing the pressure. He tugged, he sucked, he drove me to the very edge until I was clawing at the air. Then, he replaced his mouth with his fingers, stretching me, testing me.
"Are you alright?" he whispered, his eyes dark and unreadable.
"I feel like I'm going to burst," I gasped.
"Say you want me, Eliza. Say you want me and I’ll replace my hand with something better. Say it."
"Jason..."
"Say it, Eliza. It’s not that hard."
"Jason, please!"
"Suit yourself, then." He withdrew suddenly, leaving me cold and aching. "Your punishment, Blondie."
"Jason, please! Please!" I was sobbing now, the rejection worse than the tension.
He didn't make me beg twice. He went back to work, and this time, he didn't stop until I felt like I had shattered into a million pieces against the back of the door.
The shift was instantaneous. Jason stood up, checking his phone, his face returning to that cold, porcelain mask. "We have to go. Now."
I wobbled out of the room, my legs feeling like lead. In the hallway, I ran straight into Ruby, the cheer captain. She looked at my flushed face, then at Jason buttoning his shirt, and her eyes turned into narrow slits of suspicion. She didn't say a word as she stepped into the room we had just vacated.
The drive home was silent, but the house was chaos.
"Where were you?" Mom cried the second we walked in. "I was worried sick. Atlanta isn't safe, Eliza!"
"I'm fine, Mom. I'm not a toddler."
"Your stepfather was almost attacked!" she shrieked. "A shooter at the press release ,Collins could have been killed!"
"Enough with the drama, Laurel," Jason snapped, walking past her toward the stairs. "My dad deals with this every week. His security is tighter than a drum. A fly couldn't get through."
"She’s just showing concern, Jason," I muttered, though my heart was still racing from the guest room.
"Save it, Blondie. We have a charity ball tomorrow. Our first ‘family’ appearance." He spat the word family like it was poison. "Something about women and children in Africa. I don't know."
Mom kept talking, but all I could feel was the ghost of his touch. I felt the heat rising in my cheeks again.
"Honey, why are you so red?" Mom asked, touching my forehead.
"Just tired. I'm going up."
"Me too," Jason called out. "Don't plate dinner for me, Laurel. I’m going to talk to my mother. Since I actually have one."
The silence he left behind was devastating. I squeezed my mom’s hand. "He’ll come around. It’s just... a lot of change."
That night, I didn't dream of Jason. I dreamt of Texas. I dreamt of the day the laughter stopped. I saw my mom crying in our tiny kitchen after another failed IVF treatment, and my dad walking out because he was "tired" of the grief. They had a quick college love story, and an even quicker ending.
I woke up panting, my throat parched. I headed to the kitchen for water and stopped when I saw a glow in the living room. Jason was hunched over his laptop.
"How was the call with your mom?" I asked softly.
"She never called," he said, his voice small.
I didn't think. I walked over and hugged him from behind, resting my chin on his shoulder. "You’ll be fine, Jason. Some parents aren't worth the tears. Good riddance to bad rubbish."
He let out a short, dry laugh. "Good advice, Blondie. If you ever break a leg on the track, you’d make a decent therapist."
"Funny."
"But... thank you."
I looked at the back of his head, realizing there was a version of Jason Milburn I hadn't met yet. The one who wasn't a god or a rival, but a boy burnt by neglect
- Writer
